FW 1946: UXB Chapter 35 and beyond (M-rated version)
by Wolseley37
Summary: All upheavals, obstacles and delays behind them, Christopher and Samantha return home after the rather significant events at the charity auction, ready to enter into a new kind of life together.
1. FW 1946: UXB Chapter 35(M)

**Disclaimer**_**: **__Foyle's War _was created by Anthony Horowitz, and the characters of Christopher Foyle and Samantha Stewart/Wainwright jointly created by Mr. Horowitz, Mr. Michael Kitchen and Ms. Honeysuckle Weeks. No infringement intended. A fan tribute.

* * *

UXB Chapter 35 (M-rated version)

**Thursday night...**

They had each carried a basket in from the car and, after divesting themselves of coats, hat, gloves and cane, taken them through to the kitchen, remarking on the kindness and evident gratitude of _Monsieur_ LaChance. Christopher and Sam stood together at the table, examining the bounty and deciding where various goods needed to be stored - or, at least, trying to. Both were somewhat distracted.  
But they'd found a whole chicken in brown paper, potted sharp cheddar cheese, real butter, a lemon, apples, and three oranges, all of which Sam had exclaimed over, and they had deposited these in the icebox or pantry. Other tinned and nonperishable items, and a half-dozen bread rolls wrapped up in a cloth napkin, had been admired and replaced in the basket, or were cluttering the table, along with her smaller basket of chocolate.

With his right arm around Sam's waist, Christopher picked up the bottle of wine and studied the label.

She tilted her head in interest, "Is that the same wine that Alan won?"

"_Er_, it _is_ a _Romanée-Conti_, but this is the 1921 vintage. An excellent year." Not turning from his perusal, he asked lightly, "...Sh-shall I open it?"

Sam smiled at the table top, "Oh, no, darling. I'm feeling quite intoxicated enough...and we should share it with _friends_, don't you think?"

"Yes, quite agree." The pink tip of his tongue made a brief sweep on his lips. "..._I'm_ in no need of...priming." He set the bottle down.

She giggled, blushing charmingly, and turned to him, "Well, then, _em_, perhaps these other things can wait until tomorrow?"

Without quite meeting her eye, Christopher reached up and, lightly biting his lower lip as he focussed on the task, carefully removed the pin securing her little hat to her hair, and set both on the table. Then he addressed her with a sober admiration,  
"You were..._wonderful_ tonight, Samantha. I was very proud."

That sent a frisson of nerves down to her stomach, and she attempted a breezy attitude, "I-I quite enjoyed helping you capture Cleary... You know...a walking stick or a dustbin lid, whatever comes to hand, I'm your girl..."

_"You know_ that's not what I meant." he said with quiet patience. "Samantha. You were _wonderful_, as my partner this evening."

Sam closed her eyes in pleasure at the remark, all smiles. She sensed him move closer to rest his hands on her shoulders, felt his lips on her brow, her cheek, and she met him in a kiss of fond contentment that soon transformed into one of mutual searching, craving, entreating and coaxing. They broke off, breathing elevated, eyes glazed with the fog of desire.  
He petitioned softly by her ear, stroking her upper arms,  
"Shall we, _em_...?"

"Yes."

And so he took her hand to lead her upstairs, switching off the kitchen and hall lights as they passed. On the landing Christopher faced her again, holding both her hands in his, eyes glowing a warm sky-blue.

"Take as long as you need, darling."

He folded her close to him, and she felt his palms glide upwards on her back, to her nape, where his dexterous fingers unfastened the hook-and-eye closure of her frock. Then the sensation of cool air on her slip made her shiver, as he drew down the zipper to the small of her back.  
Tilting her chin up with a crooked finger, he placed a kiss on the tip of her nose, then released her, adding, with an arch of an eyebrow,  
"...But not, _em_, _very_ long."

* * *

Foyle stood in his bedroom, waiting, hands on hips again just as he'd done early that morning when Sam had invaded his bathroom shaving ritual. Half-smiling, worrying his cheek, and staring out the doorway to the landing, he thought of how quickly things had progressed since then. How things were about to progress, now.  
He wore his dressing gown, and nothing else, quite sure pyjamas were not called for. To prepare the room he'd both lit the fire and opened the window, put the bedside lamps on, drawn the coverlet into an accordion fold at the foot of the bed, and pulled the top-sheet artfully aside. Sam was changing in the bathroom. Now he waited.

His fingers drummed lightly against his upper thigh.

Soon Samantha emerged, carrying her clothes over her arm, and walked discreetly away into the back bedroom, to put her things in the wardrobe. He ducked in to attend to his own nighttime cleansing and grooming, then returned to his room.

Only a moment later she approached, a lovely vision with a shy smile, cheeks suffused with a pink blush, her hair brushed out in glossy waves, all other adornment, save her engagement ring, removed, and her light cornflower-blue dressing gown tied with a neat bow at the waist.  
In his mind's eye Foyle remembered the first time he'd seen Sam out of her khaki uniform, at the Station, with her hair down, dressed fetchingly for an evening of dancing in a frock of nearly this same colour. And he remembered how _that_ first sight of her, as a stunningly pretty girl quite unconnected to wartime duty, had affected him. His heart filled with emotion and he took in a steadying breath.

Christopher came forward to stand in the doorway. He slipped his left hand nonchalantly into a pocket, and placed his right hand high on the frame. Sam hesitated, noting his stance. She made a quarter-turn and leant her back against the doorpost, under the angle of his arm, hands behind her.

"You...barring me from coming in?" She asked casually, jigging a knee slightly up and down in a nervous fidget.

"Far from it. Simply wanted to appreciate the moment." He lowered his head and pressed his lips to her temple. Sam shut her eyes, smiling.

"No second thoughts, then?" She turned her face towards him, brushing her nose on his.

"Nnope."

His bright blue irises filled her vision, communicating trust and devotion. He brought his left hand up to caress her cheek. They gazed into each other's eyes, calmly, lovingly, both breathing deeply, and then he met her lips in a kiss as chaste, and as sincere, as the kiss they would share at the altar on their wedding day.

Sam shifted to free her hands, to run them along the sides of his dressing gown and around his back, and he put his arms around her, drawing her into a close embrace.  
She opened her lips beneath his, seeking his tongue with hers.

Foyle pulled away with a flash of a grin, "_Hmm_, who's in charge here?"

"What? No one's in _charge_, Christopher, we're..."

Before she finished he gave a low sort of growl by her ear, and turned her around across the doorway. In a deft move he dipped his knees to press his right shoulder into her middle, then straightened. Suddenly Sam found herself, with a little yelp of surprise, lifted up and over his broad shoulder, staring at the floor and his bare heels. Christopher carried her easily into the bedroom, an arm around her legs. After a friendly pat of her backside, which provoked another outcry, he lowered her carefully onto the sheets, and stood back to look down at her lying on his bed, his arms slightly flexed and hands open, with a self-satisfied smirk.

Sam stared up at him, wide-eyed and, for the second time since they'd left the party, slack-jawed. Realizing she had no real wish to object to the treatment, she broke into a delighted, if curious, grin,  
"Oh, I _say_...!"  
Raising herself onto her elbows, she saw her robe had gone askew, exposing her left breast. She glanced down at her state of deshabille and then, with glittering eyes, back up at him, challenging,  
"_Look_ what you've done..."

"Have I? Well, best be fair, then."  
He walked around to the far side of the bed, faced her, and began untying the belt of his dressing gown, but then hesitated, biting the inside of his lip. Her eyes glowing with excitement and desire, Sam raised a knee to push herself further up the bed onto the pillow. The skirt of her robe slipped, revealing a slender thigh nearly to the hip, and she offered him an invitation,

"Darling, isn't it time you... _finished_ unwrapping your present…?"

With a crooked smile he dipped his head and pulled open his robe, letting it fall from his shoulders to the floor, as if to say, _'well, here's yours.'_

In the warm amber glow of lamplight Sam watched him, eyes wide with expectation, and looked at his body, displayed for her approval - his broad well-built chest, with its unexpectedly ruddy areolae and its neat mat of fur tapering to a line running down past his navel; she saw the livid scar of the bayonet puncture on his left side, the marks of various past wounds and army doctors' work. She saw his softly padded though still flat stomach, his shapely, muscular legs, and drawing her eyes like a magnet, springing thick and nearly half-erect already from the dark, greying nest, his quite impressive manhood. Blushing red, Sam bit her lower lip, and managed to murmur, as she reached across to pull down the sheet on his side,

'C-Christopher... Do come to bed.'

In two strides he settled onto his right flank on the mattress and rolled to face her. Sam edged into the centre of the bed, laid a hand on his biceps, as he rested on an elbow. Lying back on the pillow she looked up to meet his searching gaze.  
Nervously she suggested,  
"_I_ have... f-far too many clothes on, haven't I?"

"_Hmm_, let me help."  
He pulled apart the bow, watching her eyes to gauge her confidence. Then he pushed the robe aside to reveal her lithe form and inhaled slowly through his nose as he gazed reverently over her.

Sam's own breathing was quickening, and she asserted in a small voice, "...We can manage this, I think."

He answered firmly with a nod, "Oh, yes."

He helped her further, to sit up and remove the dressing gown entirely, and he pressed his lips softly to her shoulder. Slipping a hand around the back of his neck she drew him down into a kiss, letting him sense her deep longing, her hunger for fulfillment. His response was assured, probing, almost forceful. At the first touch of his warm hand, caressing her waist and gliding upwards, she trembled in delight.  
He broke away from the kiss, bent his head to the breast he cupped in his hand, took it into his mouth, stroking her rising nipple with his wet tongue. He eased back on the bed and gave equal attention to the other. Sam watched him suckle, her lips parted in pleasure, admiring the always surprisingly long fringe of his lashes.

He kissed each erect nipple and met her eyes again, remarking eagerly,  
"_Mmm_, Ssam, the sketch..., Sir Leonard ..._hardly_ did you justice, y'know..."

Surprised, she gave him an upside-down smile of gratitude and caressed his broad, well-muscled chest, feeling the strong thudding of his heart. Then his hand slid to her belly. She shivered again with anticipation.

Her fingers followed the trail of fine greying hair over his soft, warm flesh, down to his navel. _His_ hand ventured further, to rest over her red-gold mound, fingers playing lightly over the secret, sensitive parts below. She felt a rush of exhilaration, drawing in a sharp breath. Christopher glanced up into her face, seeking assurance in her eyes that all was well.

Now his kiss was a gentle petition, in marked contrast to the hard throb she felt pressing insolently against her thigh. Looking down, Samantha saw he was fully, dauntingly erect, a sight far beyond her previous experience. Christopher took her hand and laid it over himself, and it leaped at her touch. As she softly caressed him, moving slowly upwards from his tightly clenched balls along his iron length to the pulsing exposed head, a slight sound, like a pleading sort of whimper, escaped his lips.

Her stomach swooped, and in answer to his unspoken entreaty she lifted a knee, granting his fingers access to caress her in return, and he slipped them over, and gently into, her wetness. She inhaled slowly through her teeth, pushing her head back into the pillow. Then he kissed her with unrestrained fervour, probing hotly with tongue above and fingers below, but suddenly drew back, with a wide-eyed glance.  
His voice was hoarse with lust,

"Darling, I'm, _uh_, heading south, if that's all right?" And he shifted down the bed.

Breast rising and falling in excitement, Sam watched anxiously, not understanding his intention, as he trailed kisses along her midline to her navel, and took position between her thighs. When he resumed his devouring kisses below, she gasped from the overpowering ecstasy of the sensation, entirely new to her. Lapping and stroking her most sensitive flesh with his supple tongue and firm mouth, he hummed his own pleasure against her. Sam reached up behind her with both hands to clutch the pillow, and cried out with unreserved joy. She didn't see his grin of triumph as she helplessly stretched and arched towards his attentions, keening for release from such delicious torment. But he knew when to stop, sensing her breaths shorten to panting moans.

Again he shifted, stalking upwards, climbing her body, following a tongue-wet-trail of kisses from hip to navel to rib, to breasts where he paused to suckle once more, then on to clavicle, to throat, and he came to lie over her, propped on his forearms, hands curling up from under her slender shoulders, set to brace her. She'd never felt so claimed, so protected, so secure.

He mouthed her neck hungrily, and breathed urgently,  
"_You will tell me, Sam, if...?_"

"_Yes... Oh, please..._" She raised up her thighs to cradle him, welcoming him, urging him closer.

With a practiced hand he aligned himself, stroked her slick opening with his engorged head, then probed slowly inwards, halting with a deep groan after a mere few inches, as her firm silky flesh received and closed tightly around his hard shaft,  
"..._God!_ ...Sam, this...this may be rather quick..." He glanced anxiously into her eyes.

She gasped, already dangerously lightheaded, and caressed the back of his neck and head to reassure him,  
"..._Mmmh...!_ Me...too... _Oh, god_, Christopher...!"

He proceeded further, but penetrated slowly, mindful of her comfort, their brief guttural moans increasing to open-mouthed groans of ecstasy. As Sam arched up to receive him, he threw his head back with a low tormented cry. Taking him in deeper, she was beginning already to shudder with waves of pleasure. When she had his whole length pulsing inside her, he paused, gasping against her throat, to master himself and vow to her,  
_"SSamantha...my ddarling girl... Llove you, cherish you, forever..."_  
He raised his head to look adoringly into her deep chocolate amber-lit eyes, saw her features transformed by radiant joy and desire, saw her love shining through, and his heart swelled with pride, seeing her trust and total surrender to him.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, melded her mouth to his, her tongue to his... until he moved his hips to withdraw half his length, then she turned her head to gasp. He pushed in again, slowly, gently, both moaning in utter abandonment to the sensation. Another slow retreat and Sam's eyes nearly rolled back in her head. His next was a sure, long, powerful thrust, his hands bracing her shoulders, and she uttered a low groan she hadn't known she was capable of. Sam instinctively lifted her legs to wrap around his waist, drawing him down even deeper, and she felt a groundswell building within. Her hips rolled upwards to meet him, again, again, then once again, until she was completely overpowered.

Their breaths ceased entirely for a long moment as they reached their pinnacle together, found each other's deepest core, and then with a few final reciprocal thrusts their wild cries of ecstasy joined as shuddering waves possessed them, and she felt him pulsing strong and deep inside her… Samantha managed to open her eyes, to see the face of her lover, her Christopher, transformed in boyish, beatific thrall to his climax.  
And she vowed to give him this as often as possible.

They lay panting together, convulsively pushing into each other, breathless and stunned for some moments. Then Sam ran her hands gratefully, rhythmically up and down his heaving broad back, revelling in this complete union - until she began to feel that her breathing really was in fact stifled by his weight on top of her.  
His strength seemed to have utterly collapsed, and his head lay heavily on the pillow beside hers. He'd turned his face away, his dark grey curls softly tickling her cheek and neck. She became aware of a change in the cadence of his breaths. He was sucking in short gasps, and clearly trying to disguise the sound. Sam realized, in some confusion and concern, that he was weeping.

She brought her hand up to stroke his head,  
"Christopher...? Whatever's the... matter...? Darling...?" Her voice came out weak and airless below his muscular shoulder, which prompted him instantly up onto his forearms.

He answered in almost a sob,  
"_Ssorry_! Sorry, my darling..."

He took in a long, shaking, calming breath and turned tear-filled eyes towards her, a tender smile wavering on his expressive lips,  
"Just..._um_...rather... overjoyed. _Mmy god...!_ Come here, _come to me_... Sweetheart. ..._darling_ girl."  
And he pulled her with him as he rolled back to settle onto his side, cradling her head on his folded arm. He brushed his tears away with the heel of a hand, chest still heaving both with emotion and from his exertions. When he focussed his eyes on hers, he broke into a beaming grin.

Sam gazed at him with a look of adoring wonder, through damp and tousled strands of hair, and smiled shyly,  
"We... seem to have managed rather well, haven't we."

And Christopher laughed. A deep, rolling laugh from low in his chest that rose up and burst from him in delighted appreciation. Samantha was stunned - she had never, ever, in their six years together, seen him laugh like this. She had occasionally wondered if he ever _did_ _really_ laugh. Now she almost wept herself, pleased beyond reckoning to have drawn this, too, out of him.

"_Entirely_ agree!" He managed to say when he'd composed himself again.

He reached down to pull the top-sheet and the coverlet up over them. He swept her hair out of her eyes, stroked her flushed cheek softly with the backs of his fingers as they faced each other on the pillow.  
Christopher murmured, shaking his head slightly in disbelief,  
"Dearest girl… Sam. My darling wife…"

They kissed gently, watched each other tenderly, their eyelids growing heavy, until both fell asleep, not knowing who had drifted away first.

tbc...


	2. FW 1946: UXB Chapter 36(M)

**Disclaimer**_**: **__Foyle's War _was created by Anthony Horowitz, and the characters of Foyle and Samantha jointly created by Mr. Horowitz, Mr. Michael Kitchen and Ms. Honeysuckle Weeks. No infringement intended.

* * *

UXB Chapter 36 (M-rated version)

_**A/N:**_ There is further maligning and impugning of the character of the late Adam Wainwright, which some readers may feel goes rather beyond what is strictly necessary, but plot-wise is useful.

* * *

_**Friday morning...**_

As Foyle's brain worked its way through early morning unconsciousness he became aware of an undefined general sense of euphoria, and as his conscious mind emerged slowly from sleep he wondered why and what had given rise to the feeling. But he was content in this semi-conscious state simply to lie in his warm and comfortable bed, head supported on the soft pillow, and enjoy the timeless moment. Swimming upwards to consciousness, he found his limbs felt pleasantly heavy, as if they'd been exercised in some enjoyable but unusual labour. He hadn't yet reached a level of cognizance to recall what that had been. But he knew he was smiling.

A cool waft of crisp autumn air from the open window brought him further into the room. The fragrant aroma of a very good cup of tea woke him almost completely, and he rolled lazily onto his back. Then tea-flavoured, tea-warmed velvet lips were pressed to his and he opened his eyes, surprised. Samantha's contented face and bright brown eyes hovered over him,

"D'you know you've been smiling in your sleep for twenty minutes?" She remarked quietly by way of greeting, kissed him once more and drifted away to rest on her elbow beside him.

His smile widened as his eyes closed again, recalling last night,  
"G'morning, Sam."

She teased softly, "_...Good morning, Sir!_" as if she'd just arrived to drive him to the Station.

He rolled his head and his eyes in concert towards her, still smiling. She wore only her blue dressing gown, unbelted, and her skin was pink from the bath. He saw a pot of tea and two cups on her bedside table.

"...You've been up a while." He observed.

"I'm not the only one." Her eyes flicked downwards, then a well-shaped brow arched up.

Foyle tucked in his chin and saw the bedclothes were peaked above his midpoint.  
"_Ehmm-h_. I see." He felt his face go warm, as all this was rather new. Particularly _that_.

"_'Arise and shine'_..." Sam murmured, looking heavenward and misquoting _Isaiah_.

"_Ah-heh_..." He gave a slight embarrassed laugh, "Wll, let me just, _um_..." He gestured vaguely out the bedroom door, then held the covers aside, sitting up and turning away from her. Christopher reached to snatch his dressing gown from the floor, pulled it around his arms and stood to make his way to the bathroom. He found he had to lay a hand over himself to walk out with some semblance of dignity.

"Cup of tea, darling...? There was a packet of _Twinings_ in the basket!" She called after him.

"_Er_, lovely, yess." Foyle was grinning as he shut the bathroom door.

In not too many minutes he returned, clean and fresh and, in more than one sense, at ease. But not for long. From the doorway he caught sight of a virtually naked Samantha on the bed in mid-full body-stretch: toes splayed towards him, spine arched, ribcage and breasts high, arms over her head and eyes shut tight in the luxury of it. He gripped the outer door-frame, nearly knocked breathless by the rush of desire that overtook him, and closed his own eyes momentarily.

When he opened them again, she was in repose, relaxed, long bare legs crossed casually at the ankles. Sam was admiring her engagement ring, a soft smile playing over her lips. Her silky blue robe was pooled around her, an edge drawn modestly across her middle, and her strawberry-blonde hair floated in waves on the pillow. Christopher was very tempted to dive into that pool of blue. He felt the barometer of his interest rising rapidly.

But his usual restraint and considerate manners held sway over his impulse, and, biting his lip, he again laid a hand over himself, through the pocket of his dressing gown, and padded calmly around to his side of the bed. Propping the new pillow on the headboard he got back in beside her, sitting up and arranging the covers around his waist. Sam did the same, though she was quite heedless of the open drape of her robe, pert breasts peeking out.

"Shall I pour? It's still hot."

"Delightful. Thank-you, Sam."

Before seeing to that, though, she turned towards him with a smile,  
"A _proper_ good morning first. You weren't awake."

He reached gladly for her, caressing her cheek and informing her, drily,  
"Ss-certainly am _now_..."

They shared several brief affectionate kisses, Sam chuckling at the rasp of his morning whiskers. But instead of fetching his cup of tea she stayed close, her expression becoming serious, and leant in to speak softly by his ear.  
"May I...may I tell you something?"

"Of course." With a fond smile he inclined his head to listen.

"I...I'd never felt _anything_ like...what we did last night, ..._before_."

"...Nnnever?" He asked, deceptively lightly, trying not to think too uncharitably of her late husband.

"Never. I...had no _idea_, really. Was rather beginning to wonder...what all the fuss was about, actually. But, _gosh_, ...now I know why it leads people into such trouble."

Foyle fought to keep a straight face, nodding, and offered,  
"_Well_, _em,_ perhaps you'd care to, _er_...?" He nuzzled into her glossy hair, slightly damp from the bath, and breathed in her sweet scent.

She drew back to look at him, nodding eagerly and quite innocently. "Yes, I would! Very much. Every night!"

A little wide-eyed, he studied her expression, wondering what on earth the state of her marriage had _been_. He put a hand up to pull her close again, and stroked her cheek with his thumb.  
"_Er_, you know, Sam, ...it _all_ works the same...in daylight." He gave her a quick smile and kissed her.

She blushed, "Yes, well, I suppose it does. I just thought one di-." She stopped. "D'you mean we-? Could we-? ...Now?"

He swallowed, astounded at her naïveté - or rather, at the more likely cause of her amazement over the suggestion, her late husband's appalling lack of enterprise - and kissed her again.

"Absolutely. ...Wwould you prefer I shaved? Only take a moment."

Sam's eyes scanned his for several seconds, pondering this new possibility, then she touched her fingers to his bristled cheek, and hesitantly smiled,  
"Oh! That might be... Yes, Christopher. Thank-you."

He leaned in to kiss her a third time, "Be right back." And rose to walk out again, but he stopped at the threshold to tease her, as she'd done him when he'd first woken, in a version of his policeman's command,  
"Wait here for me, Sam."

She grinned, "Right-oh, Sir."

Leaning back on the headboard, bright-eyed, Sam put a hand over her mouth, contemplating her good fortune. And she couldn't help comparing these prospects to her months with Adam.

The truth was, her young husband had been rather diffident with her from the start, and hadn't made much progress over the months of their marriage. He had only ever sought to have relations with her late in the evening, in the dark. These encounters had been rather perfunctory, and had never delivered the sort of thrill that had been hinted at by other girls she knew.

And after several weeks of this, _she_ became the bold one, usually initiating things. If she tried to encourage him at other times, and in other ways, he had always put her off with an embarrassed laugh or a short rebuff, as if what she was asking was quite out of the question. She had tried to accept that as the norm. But she'd been troubled and dissatisfied to the point that she had sought advice in published marriage and sex guides.

After reading various informative and moralistic texts, Sam had been torn between the notion that she should more properly _admire_ her husband for his restraint and self-control, and the reality that she was deeply unsatisfied by their only weekly or even fortnightly unions. In her worry she began to lose weight, had even begun to question her own 'normality.' Was she oversexed? Depraved? Surely not.

Then, on the day she had found it, she read all one hundred and twenty pages of Dr. Marie Stopes' _Married Love_, and she had wept with relief at the passage, _'Prudish or careless husbands, content with their own satisfaction, little know the pent-up aching, or even resentment, which may eat into a wife's heart and ultimately affect her whole health.'_

But her attempts to share the booklet with Adam had not been well-received, and she had begun to accept that _he_ was, perhaps, _under-_sexed, for whatever reasons, and that this would be her lot. Then the sad misfortune of her miscarriage, in her mind took on tragic proportions, and compounded her sense of inadequacy, even failure. She didn't know _when_ Adam had started seeing Vivian, nor at _what point_, in the ten months of their marriage, the cause behind his apparent lack of sexual interest in herself had transitioned from a seeming shyness with his new bride into an affair with this other woman, his former colleague at Bletchley.

But now she was to marry Christopher, and last night he had made spectacularly thrilling, satisfying love to her, and _with him_ everything promised to be very different from her brief, disappointing first marriage. Sam picked up her cup of tea and warmed her hands around it, waiting with happy anticipation for her lover to return.

###

Foyle faced himself in the bathroom mirror, contemplating the strange revelations behind Samantha's comments on their love-making. He winced as he thought about her experience - or rather, _lack_ of experience - over the past year._ Her husband had **never** made love to her in the morning?_ ..._Or the afternoon?_ And she had never... _ever_...felt- before last night? He found this deeply troubling, and frowned with worry at his reflection, leaning on the rim of the sink with a firm grasp.  
Then he gave the top of his head a quick decisive scratch, turned abruptly and walked back into the bedroom.

Sam looked up from her teacup, surprised, as he came to sit facing her on the edge of the bed, resting a hand on the bedclothes over her thigh,

"Samantha, darling, listen, _em_...," he flashed a reassuring smile, "I'm p-pleased, and _grateful_, you've told me of your...past experience, in your marriage. It's important that... we're completely frank and honest with each other."

He shook his head slightly, choosing his words,  
"_Em...Mmen_..._and_ women...well, we _all_ have different levels of..._drive_...and... _interest, em_. But, look, darling, w-want you to know that _**I will be**, em_, available to you at **_any time_**. I'm... at your disposal, sweetheart. Truly. So..."  
Seeing that she had gone rather goggle-eyed, he took the teacup from her suspended hands, set it down on the bedside table, and held her fingers in his on the coverlet, "Wwould you agree it's best if we... leave the choice, the _decision_... of time and place, when and where, and, _em_, h-how often, _to you_...?"

She stared at him, blushing, "You mean..., any time I - I felt I wanted... I only have to _ask_?"

"Yes. Just let me know. Give me a signal." He gazed directly into her eyes.

"And you...you wouldn't turn me _down_?"

"Never."

She swallowed, mulled that information over a moment, then her brows knit,  
"What if I..._didn't_ ask, for a while...?"

"Well, _er_, would you **_mind_**... if _I asked_? Of course, **_you_** have the right to decline."

"But you..._don't_?" An eyebrow went up, puzzled.

"W'll, can't imagine why I ever _would_...decline." He brought her fingers up to his lips to kiss them, and, though he'd meant to treat the matter soberly, lost his battle not to smile crookedly at her.

She took a breath, and replied in all seriousness,  
"Well, then, Christopher. No, I _wouldn't_ mind if _you_ asked. Not at all. But somehow... I don't think it will ever come to that."

She finished quite matter-of-factly, but his crooked smile grew to an upside down grin.

His evident good humour over the matter brought to Sam's mind an impish idea, and she sat up taller, making an attempt at a cool, professional look,  
"Well, I'm very glad we've...got this _straight_, right from the _very_ beginning..."

He stared a moment, a little open-mouthed, then Foyle poked his tongue into his cheek, appreciating her little dig at his early - and perhaps _overly prolonged_ \- authoritarian attempt to curb her enthusiasm. He nodded slowly, eyes sparkling.  
"Quite."

Sam broke into a warm, loving smile, and threw her arms around his neck.  
"Ow!" She laughed, and rubbed her cheek where his whiskers had scratched.

"_Warned_ you." He rumbled, lifting her chin with a thumb and forefinger, and after a careful, lingering kiss, he stood again,  
"..._Jjolly good_. I'll just, _er_..." And he walked out once more.

###

The man that greeted him in the bathroom mirror, now, was bright-eyed and pleased. Foyle nodded to himself for a matter well-handled, whilst still aghast at Samantha's clearly inadequate sexual past and mystified by her husband's disregard. It struck him as a rather cruel irony that _Sam Stewart_ should have ended up with such an unappreciative husband, having for _six years_ been the strictly off-limits, unspoken object of desire of nearly every man at the Hastings Station.

He ran water into the sink until it was half-full, then shut off the taps, splashed warm water over his beard and organised his shaving things. As he lathered his brush he suddenly recalled their invitation for that evening.

"_Er_, Sam, what time are we expected at the Reids'?"

"Oh, seven, Elaine said."

They carried on a conversation from room to room.

"Right..." His voice betrayed a slight unease.

"You don't mind that I accepted, do you?" She asked, listening.

A sound of a razor being stropped.  
"...Nno, of course not." Then he added, repeating his remark from their first discussion of the news, "Looking forward to it."

He went quiet, focusing on the task at hand and noting grimly in the mirror that now nearly all his whiskers were silver, or even white. He applied the soap to his beard, and shaving was well underway when Sam appeared at the door, a troubled crease between her brows.

"Are you...worried about what they'll think of..., well, of _us_?"

He didn't answer right away, but glanced sideways at her,  
"Wull…"

"He's a good friend, Mr. Reid, isn't he?" She twisted the tie of her robe around her fingers.

Foyle completed the last strokes of the razor up his throat,  
"_Ehm_, yes..."

He bit the inside of his cheek as he washed off the blade, drained and rinsed the sink.

"Things were all right at the party, weren't they?" She asked quietly.

"_'Things'_ ...were _wonderful_ at the party." He gave her a smile, then washed the soap residue from his face. After toweling himself dry, he went to her, seeing her look of doubt, and put his hands on her upper arms,  
"Sam. Yes, I am a little...worried. It's...well, suppose it's because Hugh and I...we've had _conversations_, in the past, about _other_ men, who..._em_..."

"Were _cradle-snatchers_?" She tilted her head in mild exasperation.

"_Hmh_. Sorry. It's _my problem_. Just have to face him, and...any _remarks_ he may feel entitled to make... As we've said, there's not much to be _done_ about it - mmy age, your age."

"He's your _friend_, Christopher. And he knows _both_ of us. He knows I was _married_. And... I _am_ nearly thirty. Hardly a...an _ingénue_."

"You're quite right. ...Absolutely no reflection on _you_. But, _men_, y'know," he wrinkled his nose, "...we like to give each other a ribbing. I'll just have to take it."  
Then he added with a winning quirk of an eyebrow,  
"Certainly worth it. Being with you, _marrying_ **you**, Sweetheart..."

Sam looked at him adoringly, entirely placated.  
He picked up her hand and laid her palm on his clean-shaven cheek,  
"Do I, _um_, pass inspection, Sergeant-Major?"

She answered his question with an evaluative kiss by his ear, then moved her lips to further test the smoothness of his jawline, chin and right cheek, finally settling and lingering on his mouth.

"_Hmmm_, you'll _do_, soldier. Now, fall in!" She did an about-turn, grinning, and led him to the bedroom, humming the tune to _'Kiss Me Good-night, Sergeant Major.'_

He followed eagerly, and beside the bed caught her up in his arms from behind, caressing her slowly through the silky fabric of her dressing gown, murmuring endearments and tender enquiries, kissing the side of her neck. He was soon quite ready, breathing against her shoulder, and he untied her tasselled belt, moved aside her robe to stroke her breasts, her belly, and he glided his right hand downwards to the join of her legs. Samantha surged and ebbed under his touch, already moaning soft urgent cries of pleasure. Christopher found her remarkably responsive, and this did much to raise his own confidence after a nearly uninterrupted fourteen-year sexual interval.

"Darling...," he breathed into her ear, "did you, _em, enjoy_...what I did last night?"

Between open-mouthed panting she answered with an entertained smile, "You mean..., your _dessert_...? Yes..._god_, yes! Do... please help yourself..., any time...!"

With a grin he shed his robe and drew hers off, tossing them onto a nearby chair, paused to cup both her breasts, massaging them upwards, kissing her shoulder, before sliding his hands down to her hips to pull her bottom against his firm erection. He groaned, pushing and throbbing upright between the globes of her soft cheeks. Then he turned her and brought her down onto the bed with him. They lay together, kissing hungrily, crossways on the mattress, exploring each other with hands and mouths. Yet when Christopher began to move down her body, she held his upper arm to arrest him and breathed anxiously,  
"I loved the way you..., but Darling, I _do so_ want to have a baby..."

His heart melted and he returned to kiss her softly, "Shall do my _utmost_ to see to it..."

Smiling lovingly into her eyes, he slid a hand down her trim, flat belly to stroke and massage it gently, "Soon put that to rights, Sweetheart. W-which would you prefer, Sam, a boy or a girl...?"

Sam saw his self-mocking arched eyebrow and beamed her amusement at him with a shy grin, but he saw the tears spring to her eyes, and then her smile waver with the surfacing of other pent up emotions. His brow creased in tender concern and he drew her with him onto their sides again, pulled the coverlet across them and held her close, resting his lips on her temple,  
"Best way to ensure a baby, m'love, is to relax about it, try not to worry..."

She nodded quickly several times, eyelids shut, then opened them wide to look into his eyes, smiling again, and whispered, "_And have lots of sex...!_"

"Yep."

He drew her hand down and over his still ready though less rampant member, and she tried a few cautious, encouraging caresses, which met with instant success. He breathed sharply in, stroked her hip and between her legs. Christopher took the time to allow her excitement to build again, pressing her onto her back, mouthing her breasts, teasing her nipples into rigidity, and below, circling and probing with his fingers, leading her into her own wet, wild readiness.  
He mounted between her raised thighs, then paused to beg in an urgent growl,  
"_Put me in, Sam! Guide me in..._"  
Open-mouthed, large-eyed, she slid her hand from his back, down to his hip and onto the sturdy root of him. Taking a firm grasp she angled the head to her engorged opening, and as his hot, potent length slid slowly through her fingers deep inside her, felt a heady thrill of confidence in the power of their coupling.

Then there was no need for words, but their communication was clear and unequivocal - promising, advising, teaching, persuading, and conducting each other to a glorious consummation.

Again they subsided together onto the bed, gasping, cooing sweet gratitude, one to the other. When they'd caught their breath, Christopher reached for a pillow, drew her close with her slender back against him, and they spooned, warm and sated under the bedclothes. They slept a little, then resurfaced into a half-conscious doze.

When he felt Sam stir in his arms, Christopher buried his nose in her hair, kissed her behind the ear. She was quiet - he felt her breathing evenly, yet without seeing her expression, he sensed that Sam was awake, and asked,

"Nneed any _help_, Samantha...?"

She turned her face up from the pillow to look back at him from the corner of her eye, "With what?"

"_Thinking_...? I can tell, y'know."

She grinned and laid her head down.  
"Well, yes, I _was_ just thinking about something... Wondering something."

"If I can _help_...?" He moved to kiss her downy cheek, then settled again to listen.

"...I was _wondering_, darling, ...w-what _was_ it, on the day I arrived, that made you think I might be... with child?"

"Ah. Well, I, _em_... I suppose it was a certain, _er_, ..._glow_ about you. The sparkle in your eyes... You seemed so very _different_ from..._Llondon_, and... _em_, thought you looked...'blooming,' Sam…"

She turned over in place to look at him directly, lips parted in surprise,  
"Oh but, _Christopher_, that was...because of _you_. It was seeing _you_, being..._with you_ again! And... beginning to suspect that... you_ loved_ me."

He blinked with emotion at her answer, then registered the latter part, and lowered his eyebrows,  
"Suspec-? But, I'd already _kissed_ you, Sam...!"

"Yes, that's true, darling, but ...haven't you always taught me not to jump to conclusions? You hadn't _said so_, yet."

He laughed softly, "Waiting for the confession, _hmm_? Detective Stewart?" And kissed her on the nose.

Sam burrowed into him under his chin,  
"_So much_ easier than collecting the evidence, darling." Then pulled back with a self-conscious frown,  
"_Er_, I meant... Well, you _did_...confess, later, on the very first day. And I've been... _quite enjoying_ collecting the evidence ever since..."

Smiling, he murmured,  
"Wull..., you've got your _confession_, and, _em_," he nodded to indicate their position in bed together, squeezing his arms around her, "..._strong evidence_ for a conviction."

_**tbc...**_

* * *

**Historical Note: **

_Married Love, Or, Love in Marriage__ by Marie Carmichael Stopes, Sc.D., Ph.D., _was published in 1918 by a very small publishing house, after being turned down by many other larger publishers. It was banned in America (despite the title page indicating it was printed there) until 1931, but in England it quickly sold out and went through six printings within a fortnight! In 1935 American Academics voted it one of the 25 most influential books of the previous 50 years. (Wikipedia) Well worth reading today, and available online through wikisource dot org._  
_


	3. FW 1946: UXB Chapter 37(M)

**Disclaimer**_**: **__Foyle's War _was created by Anthony Horowitz, and the characters of Christopher Foyle and Samantha Stewart/Wainwright jointly created by Mr. Horowitz, Mr. Michael Kitchen and Ms. Honeysuckle Weeks. No infringement intended. Merely a fan tribute.

* * *

UXB Chapter 37 (M-rated version)

_**Friday continues...**_

It was getting rather hot in the bed, and not, as yet, from further amorous activity. Foyle had always been an exceptionally warm-bodied man, throwing off enough heat that he rarely felt the cold. Even in the depths of winter, he generally lay under only a sheet and a light coverlet, rather than an eiderdown, and always kept the window open at night. Now, with a soft, warm body cuddled up close to him, delightful as that was, he found he was becoming overheated as they dozed indolently together. Not wishing to disturb his lovely armful of Sam, he pushed a foot out behind and kicked the covers off, exposing half a leg to the cool air to regulate his temperature, his own version of an elephant's ear-waving.

Samantha had hardly moved a muscle since they'd resettled lengthwise on the mattress after their earlier post-coital confessions, and she was still snuggled under his chin, an arm draped comfortably over his hip. Now she rustled against him, then rolled away onto her back, bringing her elbows up with a small stretch and a yawn.

"_Hmmm_, too warm, darling? Me too..."

Her cream and pink breasts bobbed up beautifully, and Foyle, propping his head on a hand, smiled appreciatively, watching her nipples pucker and peak as the room's cool October air licked round them. He felt himself respond to the wondrous sight, and he was fairly certain that, with any encouragement, he'd be able to perform again.

"_Mm-entirely_ my fault. ...Ros-."  
He stopped, realizing with a slight start and a flash of conscience that it was the first time he'd spontaneously mentioned his late wife - the first time he'd been on the verge of letting down the careful guard he kept around her memory, to say something about her that wasn't safely cloaked in a generality.  
And perhaps _this_ was not the best location to do that.

Sam rubbed a knuckle into the corner of her eye, and regarded him from her pillow with a watchful compassion,  
"...Christopher?"  
Then she nodded two or three times, slowly, encouragingly, as she quoted his own words back to him,  
"_'It's **important**... that we're completely **frank**... and honest with each other...'_?"

But he only chewed his lower lip, feeling caught out.

Looking off towards the wardrobe, she said quickly and quietly,  
"You can tell me _anything,_ you know. ...I won't _quiz_ you, but I would _hope_ that, ..._soon_, you'll feel you're able to talk to me...of Rosalind." She turned back and studied his reaction.

He couldn't help a long sigh of reluctance - _or was it relief?_ \- then answered,  
"Yes. Th-thank-you, Sam... I, _umm_..." But winced and found he couldn't go on.

She bit her lip, and decided to try a mild inducement,  
"What..._were_ you about to say...?" adding charmingly, making large innocent eyes at him,  
"- Oh, but that _is_ quizzing, isn't it?"

His mouth twitched in amusement, and he surrendered to her gentle persuasion,  
"Well, I'll _give_ you that one. _Em_... On the subject of _heat_..." He addressed the near corner of her pillow, "...Ssimply that ...Rosalind used to say ...we saved a small fortune in fuel costs as there was no need to light the gasfire if, _um_..., if she sent me in to warm the bed _first_." He glanced up to observe her response.

Sam smiled affectionately,  
"Very practical. And I'm glad to know it. I shall do the _same_."  
Gazing up into his eyes, which glowed warmly now at her words, she lifted her palm to his cheek, brushed her thumb across the ridge of his cheekbone, and gave him a peck on the lips, a little reward for his candour.

Then Samantha courteously changed the subject. She looked dreamily at the ceiling, tucking the same hand behind her head, "I wonder if I'm pregnant, _now_...?"

Relieved by her easy and unoffended response, and diverted by her remark, not to mention the loveliness of her exposed breasts, Christopher stowed away his past again and joined her in the present.  
And he _didn't laugh_, knowing she had her heart set on this, but the factual part of his mind insisted on informing her, "...Iiit doesn't happen _quite_ that fast, darling. But, _em_… let's do all we **_can_** to, _uh_, help things along." And he almost waggled his eyebrows at her.

Sam _did_ laugh, "Well, as _soon_ as we can, yes!"

A jovially raised eyebrow remained arched, but he tilted his head, sensing another gap in her marital or physiological knowledge, "_Umhh_, whenever you like..."

Still smiling, her eyes flicked over to him and away again, then her humorous take on the matter was slowly replaced by a dawning idea. She turned back, with a slight frown, to ask, "Oh..., d'you mean...? _Ssoon_...?"

"_Emmh_... Fairly soon." He said lightly. "You mmight want something from the kitchen, first. Don't intend to starve you, Sam."  
He reached behind for his watch on the bedside table. Samantha admired the view of his upper torso stretching backwards, his raised arm lending definition to his pectorals. He looked at the time and his face registered mild surprise,  
"We've missed breakfast, and, _um_, will be _fashionably late_ for lunch! Shall we...?" A nod of his head gestured her towards the door. To his amazement, in light of this offering of food, Sam made no move to climb out of their soft nest.

"Well, _I'd_ be _perfectly_ happy just to fetch something from the basket...!" She grinned bashfully, "And come straight back _here_."

"Ff-fair enough." Suppressing a smile, he repaid her earlier peck on the lips, then he gave up all resistance to her pert nipple and latched on to it for a full minute, circling his head in total enjoyment, eventually mumbling around it,  
"...You'll need something more nourishing than chocolate, mind you."

"Look who's talking...!" She chided happily, and relaxed her head on the pillow as she let him 'feed.'  
Christopher chuckled against the yielding flesh of her breast.

When he switched sides, Sam rested a hand on the back of his neck, her eyes drifting closed at the stimulating sensations of his mouth and tongue. He rolled cow-like eyes upwards to watch her, and smiled to see her lick her lips and then her mouth fall open with pleasure. He caressed the underside of her breast with his fingers and, as there was no sign of impatience on her part, glided his hand down her front to the gentle rise of her mound. Her ribcage rose with an indrawn breath, and he made his move, shifting down the bed and drawing a slender leg over his shoulder.  
Christopher cupped her peach-like bottom in the palms of his hands, stroked and massaged her with his thumbs, and applied a dedicated attention and practiced method with his tongue and lips. Samantha was soon panting helplessly, rolling on a wave towards her climax, but he heard a note of anxiety in her moans.

He whispered to her,  
"_Mmm-Come_ for me, Sweetheart...It's all right... There's more on offer..."  
He lavished concentration on her hard little bud until he brought her completely over the edge, her cries verging on tearful gasps, then he eased her down with gentle licks and kisses. As her bucking slowed, he kissed his way up to lie beside her, taking her in his arms under the covers.  
Sam folded herself against him, breathing fast and pressing into him with small shivers of ecstasy. He ran his arm up and down the warm silken skin of her back, soothing her until she calmed. But then he drew away a little, to insinuate his hand between her legs again, and began a slow soft stroking over her swollen flesh. She moaned again, this time cooing a wordless question.

He took the opportunity to engage in a little helpful instruction, all the while giving gentle ministrations between her thighs, murmuring into her hair,  
"Yy'know, Sam, _women_... have the _advantage_ over men... They can be ready again _sooner_, and achieve full...completion, more often. _Mmultiple_ times, in fact."

He kissed her fevered cheek as she whispered back, open-mouthed,  
"Th-they _can_? I mean-, we _can_? I-I didn't know that..."

"Oh, yes..." He inserted a finger and began stroking inside her very wet passage, still pulsing from her climax, and was rewarded with her soft rising mewls of sweet apprehension. He pressed parted lips to her damp brow, exquisitely aroused himself, but holding back in order to demonstrate his point,  
"...Sso, you needn't _worry_..., my darling - if you should...finish _first_, or finish in another _way_ \- that we can't, _ah_, go _again_... and try for a baby. The_ limits_...are all on the man's side." With his free hand he caught hers and pressed it to his proud, hard length.

"_Oh, gohd...Oh my gohd...!_" Sam groaned desperately into his neck, even more stimulated by the feel of his erection, and though she grasped him tightly, was far too distracted to think of offering him any help. He rocked his fingers inside and over her, stroked her rigid nub with his thumb, and brought her writhing to her third climax of the day, a mere few minutes after her second.

Yet even before her shuddering and her cries completely subsided, Samantha clutched his lower back, pulling him closer, and she threw her knee over his leg, giving every indication that she wanted him inside her.  
Christopher sought her mouth and plunged in, savouring her tongue with his. She took him in hand again and began directing his ingress. But he had something more in mind and, with an urgent groan, rolled onto his back, lifting her by the hips above him. He lowered her to sink slowly down onto his firm shaft, gently impaling her. Samantha groaned in pleasure. She raised her head, planted her hands on his broad shoulders, and pushed herself up. She hung over him, her strawberry-blonde hair falling forwards, mouth agape in surprised ecstasy. She drew up her other knee so that she was properly astride him.  
Christopher watched her face, open-mouthed and breathless himself, and pushed tentatively back on her hips, then drew her forwards. Wild-eyed, Sam instinctively took over, and began riding him at a slow, then gradually increasing pace that had them both moaning their delight.  
He revelled in the sensation of holding her slender hips between his hands, guiding, adjusting or simply following her motions over him. But as their rate quickened, he shifted to hold her by the upper arms, to bear some of her weight, sensing she was fatiguing from the morning's exertions. It was just what she needed to take flight, and soon, keening and growling in unison, they found the ideal angle and speed that sent them both rocketing to a sublime, powerful completion.  
When he was able, he brought her down onto his heaving chest, enfolding her in his arms, caressing her head against his cheek. Eyes closed, he purred and chuckled aloud in grateful appreciation of her efforts.

* * *

Lying on their sides once more, eyeing each other rather triumphantly, with tender smiles, he smoothed her tousled hair back from her damp brow again. And as he softened and slipped out of her, Sam gave a little whimper of protest and complaint.

"Samantha, darling," Christopher murmured solicitously, "...'fraid your tea's gone cold."

She broke into a fit of giggles, then fretted on his behalf,  
"And you didn't have _any_...!"  
She lovingly stroked his temple, her deep brown eyes adoring his sky blue ones.  
"_Poor dear man_... I'm not setting a very good standard as your wife. You'll be... leaving about a copy of _'Mrs. Beeton's'_ next, never mind _'A Guide for Inquiry Agents.'_"

"_Llast_ thing on my mind, at the moment."  
He paused to discreetly extract a little golden curly hair from between his tongue and his cheek,  
"_Must_ feed you soon, though, Sam. Can't bring you to the Reids' for dinner having only _just had_ lunch..."

"No, even _my appetite_ doesn't run to two meals back to back. ...Well, not for _food_, at least." She smiled shyly at him and then her cheeks flushed a little more pink.  
Christopher detected a question in her eyes, and propped his head on his hand again, lifting an eyebrow, "You can _ask me_ anything, you know…?"

"Can I?" she bit her lower lip, "Well…" Now her face went quite red, but she really wanted to know. She propped herself on an elbow as well, and trailed a finger over his collarbone, to ask earnestly, "How- how often _can_ you…?"

"Wwell, _em_," he glanced at her, balancing his answer between a fear of seeming to boast and a worry of setting up expectations that were yet to be tested,  
"...Of course..._**mmy**, er_, service records, so to speak, date back some _fourteen_ years. Must take that into _account_, darling. Doubt I'd have the same, _er_...performance _now_. But, _em_, in my _thirties_...used to manage...twice an hour...fairly regularly, at weekends."

"_Twice an -!_ For how long…?".

"Oh. _Um_, couple hours in the morning. Or a few hours in the afternoon. Dependent on circumstances, of course."

With an almost stricken expression Sam fell back on the pillow and put her hands to her cheeks, "_Oh my g-. And I tho-!_"

"_Wwhat_, sweetheart?" He asked with mild alarm.

"Once a _fortnight!_ If I was lucky."

"...Oh." He said very quietly, with a look of concerned discomfort.

She squeezed her eyes shut.  
"I thought I was..._depraved_...or...something... When I wanted..."

He saw she was a little distraught. Christopher laid his head on the pillow too, gathered her close and kissed her forehead, smoothing the upset away with his thumb,  
"Nonno, darling. Certainly not. Perfectly normal...and _healthy_."

After a moment Sam exhaled a vexed sigh through her nose, summing up her feelings on the matter,  
"_Honestly...!_"  
When she opened her eyes she fixed on his with an appeal,  
"Well, I'd _very much_ like to make up for lost time!"

He nodded once to show his willing agreement,  
"Can rely on _me_, sweetheart… But, _em_," a concerned furrow formed between his eyebrows, and he found himself uttering an entirely new worry, "..._rrreally_ must **feed you, **Sam, before we, _emmh_... _Sh-shouldn't_ we?"

"Well, all right, but just a quick bite. Unless _you're_, _um_...?"

"No! Nno, perfectly fine with me."

Bright-eyed, Christopher mentally calculated further plans to help her catch up.

* * *

to be continued...


	4. FW 1946: UXB Chapter 38(M)

**FW 1946 UXB **

**Disclaimer**_**: **__Foyle's War _was created by Anthony Horowitz, and the characters of Foyle and Samantha jointly created by Mr. Horowitz, Mr. Michael Kitchen and Ms. Honeysuckle Weeks. No infringement intended. A fan tribute.

* * *

**_End of chapter 37_**

_"Well, I'd very much like to make up for lost time!"_

_He nodded once to show his willing agreement,_

_"Can rely on me, sweetheart… But, em," a concerned furrow formed between his eyebrows, and he found himself uttering an entirely new worry, "...rrreally must __**feed**_ _you, Sam, before we, emmh... Sh-shouldn't we?"_

_"Well, all right, but just a quick bite. Unless you're, um...?"_

_"No-! Nno, perfectly fine with me."_

_Bright-eyed, Christopher mentally calculated further plans to help her catch up._

* * *

UXB Chapter 38 (M)

Lying back in the bed, smiling to herself, Sam had listened to the sounds of Christopher washing in the bathroom and then making his way downstairs. Taking the tea tray, he'd proposed going ahead of her to prepare something for lunch, urging her with affectionate devotion to rest a little longer and take her time before joining him in the kitchen.

She swept her arm up her lover's side of the mattress, eyes sparkling with exhilaration. Glancing at the clock, she noted it was half-past twelve. She'd never, _ever_ lain in bed so late before - no chance of that, growing up in the vicarage; nor in the MTC or the boarding houses she'd lived in during the War - well, not unless she was ill. And she was absolutely the _opposite_ of that - deliciously lazy and yet brimming with energy, happiness, and vitality. She was aware of every part of her body in a new and sensuous way. _This_ was the source of the secret, knowing smiles of newly married friends, _this_ was the indescribable thrill other girls had hinted at. Yet Sam was certain she had now experienced something _quite beyond_ what they had rhapsodized over. She pressed her shoulder to her cheek and inhaled, enjoying his scent on her skin.

Christopher's lovemaking had brought revelations to her on so many levels, about both of them - his sure understanding of her body's response, his expected gentleness, but also his controlled forcefulness; now she knew she rather liked that, had thrilled at the sensation of being physically overpowered by him, knowing he was _absolutely_ to be trusted.  
And she knew _he_ trusted _her_, too, setting her atop as he had. Sam blushed at the recollection, grinning and absently biting her thumb - _had she really done that? Gone at him like a - a rutting beast? She'd had no idea it could even be managed that way._.. Well, nearly everything they'd done had been a discovery for her. _And to __**think**_ _he had brought her to the pinnacle of ecstasy __**four times**_ _this morning, in four different ways! _

This was all _entirely_ new.

And undoubtedly she owed a great deal of her happiness now to his first marriage, to his years of loving Rosalind. Sam understood that, for a while at least, there would be three of them in the bed, that it would be natural for him to make comparisons, to recall his experiences with his beloved first wife. For herself, though, there would certainly NOT be an extra bedfellow. Christopher had instantly, entirely dismissed and displaced her late husband from her sexual history. The fact that all her unsatisfactory marital relations had occurred in the dark made it that much easier to forget those encounters.

_To see the face of one's lover while making love,_ Sam pronounced to herself with newfound conviction and a nod of her head, _whether in soft lamplight or bright daylight, was essential for communication and for the full enjoyment of the experience._ She was sure Dr. Marie Stopes would agree.

Her one regret, Sam thought, and gave a small sigh, was that the circumstances of their work, the War and it's aftermath, had delayed things so long for them. _Six years_ they'd worked together. When they'd first met, of course, she had been a mere girl of twenty-two. He had been widowed eight years - and had been alone for fourteen, until now.

Sam's brow furrowed, _'Or had he been all alone?'_ Knowing what she _now_ knew of him - his drive, his mastery, his pleasure and his generosity in lovemaking - she found it difficult to imagine he'd been entirely celibate for so many years...

Turning onto her side to face the doorway, she cast back in her memory for any clues. Other than that sigh of disappointment he'd given, in the car after reading the farewell note from Barbara Hicks, whom they'd met during the case at the Land Girls' farm in 1940, she couldn't recall any indications... Never an unexplained early evening departure from the Station, not a long midday absence, nor a late morning... No. Not one. And surely he would have confessed _another child_, aside from Andrew and Jack, if one existed. Yet, if he'd _had_ a lady friend, honestly, how could she ever have known...? He'd always very much kept himself to himself.

Well, really, it was none of her business, was it? Clearly there had been no one who'd claimed his _heart_. She could be quite sure of that.

The sound of the kettle whistling downstairs roused her from her musings. She swung her legs off the bed, snatched her robe from the chair and took herself to the bathroom. After another quick bath - she felt a little guilty draining away the hot water so soon, but she was eager to join Christopher - she stepped in to the back bedroom to pull on a fresh pair of knickers under her dressing gown, pushed her feet into her slippers, and tripped lightly down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Foyle looked up from the cooker at the sound of her entrance and grinned happily, but before he could get a word of welcome out, Sam plastered herself to his back, snaking her arms around him and purring, "_Mmm_, hope you haven't gone to any trouble, darling." And without even a glance into the bubbling pot, she began nibbling provocatively on his ear.

"Oh, well, not really. Just, _er._..," his voice trailed away as he looked down to watch her hand slip inside his dressing gown to stroke his chest. That and the sensation of her lips and warm breath on his neck made him suddenly lightheaded as his blood was diverted from his brain and pumped downwards. For a few moments he gave in to the pleasure of it, letting his eyes drift shut, but when her fingers travelled to the belt of his robe, he knew he must avert a minor domestic crisis.

He seized and stilled her hand,  
"Samantha..., these are _two-minute_ eggs with less than _half a minute_ to go."  
He extricated himself from her embrace, turned and planted his hands on her shoulders,  
"Do behave yourself, Sweetheart, or we'll end up with twenty-minute eggs, boiled dry."

Sam stared up at him with a feigned look of bewildered innocence until, with a twinkle in his eye and a kiss on the tip of her nose, he sent her to the table. But he didn't resume his cooking duties until he'd admired her figure from the rear and seen her seated.

The baskets had been moved to one end of the table and their two places had been set diagonally at the other corner. Sam sat down, attempting a pout, but really couldn't manage it in her complete contentment, _and_ seeing that he _was_ making her a meal. The apples and oranges had been set out on display in a ceramic bowl as a centrepiece. She lifted an apple to her nose and sniffed deeply, realizing she was _a bit_ hungry, after all, then put it back, interested in what was on offer.

"You mean we get a _whole egg **each**_? What extravagance!"

"Wull, I'd say we're both in _need_ of it."  
He arched an eyebrow at her, then pivoted back to switch off the gas, lift out the eggs and place them in the waiting eggcups. Slices of toasted, buttered French bread were added to the tray, along with a small pot of orange marmalade. They set to, slicing the tops off their eggs and dipping toast strips into the runny golden yolks.

After a few moments Sam remarked,  
"_Gosh_, this feels like a proper pre-War breakfast, doesn't it."

Christopher smiled his agreement as he chewed, then, remembering the teapot, rose to fetch it. He poured the aromatic _Twinings_ into their two cups, and pushed the freshly-washed and filled sugar bowl towards her. Sam stared at it, lifted the lid, and looked up incredulously at him,  
"Real sugar!?"

"It is. From the basket. Just noticed it before you came down."

"I may_ weep_ with happiness!" She asserted. But as she carried a heaping spoonful from the bowl to her cup, he cautioned her kindly,  
"Go easy, Sam, you're not used to it."

She tilted the spoon and watched the crystals sparkle and slowly cascade into the steaming amber liquid, but leveled it again when about half remained. Prudently, and wordlessly, she returned the rest to the bowl, then added milk to her cup and stirred it round. Foyle had observed her actions while finishing his egg and toast. As he poured a dollop of milk into his own tea she saw him smile to himself.

"What?" She asked, raising the cup to her lips. She tasted it and made a slight wince. "Ah. Yes. You're quite right. A quarter of that would have been plenty. Oh, well." She took another sip.

"You've, _um_, not had the opportunity to discover that tastes can change as you get older. You'd've..._probably_ lost the taste for sweet things naturally...if you hadn't been deprived of them."

"Are you saying I've become...sophisticated by default, Christopher?" She half-grinned at him.

"We may never know, ...or at least not until rationing ends. When we have more to choose from... and can exercise our preferences."

"Well, we've lots to choose from just now!"  
Sam helped herself to marmalade, but minded his advice and only spread a thin coating over her toast.  
"_Mmm_, I can't remember the last time I had orange marmalade. Not since I left home - _er_, left _my father's_ home, I meant." She bit into her toast and Foyle was amused as her chatter ceased for several moments of intense enjoyment. After a few bites she enthused,  
"_Goodness_ \- real marmalade, real bread, real butter and a whole egg! I'll be in danger of losing my girlish figure, at this rate."

"Well...," Foyle said persuasively, "...if you finish all of_ that_, and a piece of fruit, you can have a bit of chocolate for afters."

"Oh. Why?" Now _she_ was amused, and eyed him curiously.

"..._Mm_-well, y'know, Sam, I was very _concerned_... when I first saw you in London. And _not only_ because you seemed to have been implicated in a spy ring."

"You mean...?" She paused, her hand suspended in reaching towards the fruit bowl.

"Well, you were... _too_ thin, Sweetheart." He explained with a cautious glance.

Sam raised her eyebrows in mild surprise at this personal remark.  
"You don't like the 'Wallis Simpson' look?" She asked innocently, only half-teasing, and took a bite of her apple.

He wrinkled his nose in distaste, and comically widened his eyes in alarm by way of answer.

Sam giggled, which then necessitated wiping a little apple juice from her chin.

"During the _War_," he continued, "you were... _slender_. And you _have_ filled out a little more, _now_. But, Darling, ...sshouldn't begin a pregnancy..._under_weight. You'll need all your strength, as the baby grows. I'm sure your doctor would advise you to gain...a stone."

She swallowed her mouthful of apple and gaped at him, "A _stone!_ I can't _imagine!_"

He cocked his head, narrowing his eyes,  
"_Mm-_Well, best to lay up your _own reserves_, Sweetheart, before the baby starts making demands." And he smiled at her pleasantly.

Then Sam _was_ tearful with happiness, to hear him talking with such assuredness about a child. Blinking a few times, she took hold of his left hand and held on to it,  
"You make it sound so..._possible_. Thank-you, Christopher."

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers,  
"Possible, m'love, ...and _very_ probable. Let's...just have faith, _hm_?"

"Yes." She raised her head stalwartly.

But then Sam did a double-take as, just before he let go of her hand, she felt the quick wet brush of his warm silk tongue between her middle and ring fingers. That small subtle action instantly kindled the inner sensations of their morning lovemaking. Blushing, suppressing a smile, Sam sat back in her chair and refocused on finishing her apple, as Foyle nonchalantly selected an orange from the fruit-bowl. Her eyes were soon drawn to his motions, and she watched with a lazy fascination.

First he warmed it in both his hands, turning it incrementally, and brought it to his nose to breathe in its scent. Then he compressed it with gentle force and completed a full rotation between his cupped palms. He held it out towards her to share the citrusy aroma and she sniffed appreciatively. Next he dug a thumbnail into it for his first purchase on the thick rind, and slowly pulled a strip free of the flesh. He repeated this action until the fruit was naked and a neat pile of discarded peel and pith lay on his plate. The pulpy core was next drawn out of the centre and laid aside, then he carefully pulled apart the fruit in unbroken segments.

Christopher proffered a piece between finger and thumb, but when Sam reached for it, he playfully pulled it back, lifting an eyebrow and raising his chin. She gave him a half-smile, then complied with his unspoken direction by leaning towards him and opening her mouth, and he placed the orange segment on her tongue. After savouring the tangy sweetness, eyes shut, she peeped at him through nearly closed lids, tilting her head, and murmured provocatively,  
"So you.._.noticed_ my figure...during the War..., did you, ...Mr. Foyle?"

He only twisted his mouth to one side, and carried on eating his orange.

"Did you _ever_... imagine us... together, ...when I was your driver...?"

"Certainly not." He replied immediately, though gently, then pursed his lips, adding,  
"Don't want to tarnish the _memory_ of that time, for either of us, Sam, with any suggestion that I might have harboured ...inappropriate thoughts about you. So... No. And let's leave it at that."

An affectionate smile spread slowly, broadly, across her face. Before she reached to take another piece of the orange from his plate, Sam declared warmly,  
"You really are...truly...a _lovely_ man, d'you know that?"

"Mmust be _some reason_ why you've agreed to marry me."

"Oh, I had a _hundred_ before..." She said around a mouthful of orange.  
"Now I've got...a hundred and _five_, by my count." She got up without looking at him and began clearing the table.

Foyle tucked in his chin, smiling a crooked smile, then popped the very last orange segment into his mouth, glancing up at her as she took his plate. He finished, downed his tea, touched his napkin to his lips, and stood, one hand on the chair back, the other in his dressing gown pocket,  
"L-leave those, Sam. They don't matter just now."

"Not in the _least_...?" She said with a little pleased smirk, turning away from the kitchen sink where she'd left their plates and cutlery in an inch of soapy hot water. She had put aside the orange rind for future baking or candied peel, and the eggshells for several other uses.

"Couldn't matter less. And, _er_, there was a mention of _chocolate_, y'know." He gave her a sideways look.

"Yes, there _was_. I distinctly remember." Sam stepped to the far end of the table and rummaged in the smaller basket for one of the _Cadbury's_ bars.

"Well, it's _yours_, of course... Not really _my call_." Foyle went to the sink, dipped his fingertips into the water, and dried them on a tea towel. He turned, settled against the counter to watch her, hands in pockets again.

"_Hmm._ Perhaps just a little..._corner_..." She carefully unwrapped the bar to expose the pristine milk chocolate, held it under her nose, breathed in and exhaled, "Heavenly...!" She glanced at him, and crossed the little distance between them, "Care for some, Darling...?"

Foyle looked into her eyes, gently smiling, and shook his head.

Something in his gaze held her attention, and somehow, merely by his expression, she was made newly aware of the thinness of the few garments they wore. Sam leaned a shoulder against him, contemplating the bar of chocolate.

He lifted a hand to rest it lightly, warmly, on the small of her back, and murmured,  
"Believe _I was_ ordered to report upstairs, ...as soon after canteen duty as possible?"

Eyes widening, without a word Sam re-wrapped the chocolate and laid it down on the counter-top. She felt for his hand, and set off down the passageway with him in tow. Just before he was pulled out the kitchen door, grinning in anticipation, Foyle grabbed the abandoned chocolate bar and slipped it into his dressing gown pocket.

On the landing Sam turned to face him, smiling shyly but intently, still drawing him along, now by both hands, into the bedroom. Once she had him beside the bed, she glided around behind to embrace him as she had downstairs, reaching in to caress his broad bare chest and midriff.

"I haven't rushed you, have I?"

"No, Darling. All present and correct." he assured her, smiling.

"...Then I think we might remove this 'mess kit,' _hmm_?" She pulled apart the loose knot of his belt until his dressing gown fell open. Christopher watched her hands moving over his front, saw the evidence of his own interest as his breathing deepened and his member roused from its repose. Samantha's hand slid hesitantly downwards, through the tangle of coarse hair, and along his growing, rising length. She tilted her head to look around him, and he felt her warm breath travel across his shoulder and upper arm.

"_My gosh_..." Sam murmured in wonder, "..._to think you've had **this**, hidden and ...quite unavailable, ...all this time_."

He couldn't help chuckling silently, until her fingers wound around him, encouraging his upward movement, and her thumb massaged gently towards the head, now straining upright, free of its hood. He took in a slow gasp of pleasure.  
Sam admitted with some embarrassment,  
"_I've never...really...had a good** look** at..._"

"Oh. ...Well, ..._do_. Shall we, _er_...?" He made to move towards the bed, but she stopped him,  
"No. - That is, - may I, _um_...?"

Sitting down on the edge of the mattress, Sam drew him closer so that he stood before her, quite exposed. Her cheeks were flushed, but Christopher could see the determination in her expression. He shut his eyes a moment, mentally preparing himself to be examined, then gazed down at her, holding his robe aside with hands clasped behind his back.

"Want a good look under the bonnet, do you?" He muttered, self-conscious.

"Well, ...best to be on familiar terms with the, _um, equipment_ one is working with..."

"...Quite."

He endured her scrutiny with a good grace, keeping an eye on the proceedings. For a brief moment the recollection flashed into his mind of military Medical Officers' 'short arm inspections,' another indignity of his Great War service. But that was an entirely different set of circumstances and he quickly shook it out of his head. Wouldn't do to attempt a joking reference to it just now, despite his mild embarrassment. He took in a calming breath and focused on his lover's bright red-gold hair.

Sam gently caressed him again, observing with a keen and serious interest the expansion and coloration of the dry, warm tissues, the undulating raised line of a vein along his length, and the tightening contraction of the flesh over his testicles. Stroking softly upwards with her thumb, she made an even closer study of the purpling head, noting the delicate connection of the glans to the underside of the shaft.  
His chest rose and fell slowly, as he enjoyed the feather light touch of her fingers.

What he _hadn't_ prepared himself for was her quite unexpected interest in experimentation: placing her left hand at his root, Sam suddenly moved in to apply a broad wet tongue on his shaft and licked upwards to the throbbing head.  
His knees nearly buckled.  
Christopher dropped a hand heavily on her shoulder, with a whispered shout,  
"_Ahh-uhh! Jeezus!_ Sweetheart, give a chap some warning! _Christ._"

She looked up, startled and repentant at his sudden shift and outcry, retracting her tongue and biting her lower lip,  
"_Oh, god. I'm sorry. Did that... hurt...?_" She'd seen and felt the immediate positive effect on his member, and her brows lowered in a puzzled frown.

"_Jeezus_ \- the opposite! But...a little notice, _hmmm?_"

"'The opp-'? Oh." She smiled, pleased.  
"Sorry. Well..., I should like, _-em_, I've never. -May I...try...?"

He nodded vigorously and looked down rather intensely at her. Sam returned her attention to the task she'd set herself, as Christopher quickly shed his dressing gown. She tried the same tactic again and, forewarned, he only drew in a long breath. She made another slow, upward sweep with her tongue, kissed the head, and looked up to meet his eyes.  
"I'm, _em_, I'd like to..."  
He only gave another nod, riveted by her bold and immensely pleasurable actions. Sam angled his instrument towards herself and took the head into her mouth, her tongue warmly caressing the sensitive underside. He groaned encouragingly, a hand again resting on her shoulder, the other now in her hair. She repeated the motion, this time closing her lips firmly and applying a little suction on the upward stroke. She was rewarded by Christopher's helpless moan.  
But when she had completed another caress, and had felt the extreme hardening of his length, he carefully, gently disengaged from her, breathing,  
"_Darling...let's not forget our main objective_..."  
He pushed her robe from her shoulders, then shifted his hands to easily lift her under the arms, and set her further back on the bed. Sam watched with an eager smile as he reverently drew down her knickers, then climbed up and lay over her, nudging her thighs further apart with his knee.  
"_W-was that all right, Christopher?_"

"Ffairly _obvious_...it was rather _more_ than all right, wouldn't you think...?" He kissed her deeply, then smiled into her eyes, whispering,  
"_Dangerously so. But we've a **mission** to complete, Sam._"  
His fingers massaged her from breast down to hip, and below he found her quite ready. She took charge of him, guiding him again until he was deep inside her. Already well-primed, he could barely restrain himself, thrusting into her forcefully, groaning his pleasure against her throat.

Sam panted unevenly, overcome by the thrill of his motions and instinctively reciprocating.  
"_Our... Nnnumber One... asss-sssignment...Ohh!_"

Then words became unnecessary, if not impossible. Christopher lifted his head, eyes seeking Sam's. They watched each other as they coupled, entranced and open-mouthed, communicating determination and commitment to their shared goal. As they climbed towards their completion, he saw Sam's face suffuse with a transcendent smile and her eyelids flutter closed. Then he lost himself in his climax.

* * *

"Darling Sam...," he murmured, nudging her cheek with his nose as they lay recovering their breath, "what was that...impertinent smile for...?"

Eyes still shut, she gave him an inverted grin,  
"Oh...I suddenly felt...that I _knew...exactly_ what a true marriage is meant to be... And I thought myself...immensely _blessed_, at that moment." She opened her eyes, two chocolate brown depths shining with adoration at him.  
"If we should ever disagree... If, in the future, you should ever think you've made a mistake... Please remember this moment, because this is how I truly feel. ..._I love you so much_, Christopher."

She saw the strength of her feelings reflected in his eyes, but then he covered his emotion with a jest,  
"Well, I _do hope_ we won't be disagreeing on anything _important...soon..."_ His thumb caressed her cheek, "Haven't got anything on your _mind_, have you...? Any complaints?"

"Not a one." She whispered, taking his face between her hands, drawing him down into a kiss.

tbc...


	5. FW 1946: UXB Chapter 39(M)

**FW 1946 UXB**

**Disclaimer**_**: **__Foyle's War _was created by Anthony Horowitz, and the characters of Foyle and Samantha jointly created by Mr. Horowitz, Mr. Michael Kitchen and Ms. Honeysuckle Weeks. No infringement intended. A fan tribute.

* * *

_End of chapter 38 (M)_

_She saw the strength of her feelings reflected in his eyes, but then he covered his emotion with a jest,  
"Wull, I do hope we won't be disagreeing on anything important...soon..." His thumb caressed her cheek, "Haven't got anything on your mind, have you...? Any complaints?"  
"Not a one." She whispered, taking his face between her hands, drawing him down into a kiss._

* * *

UXB Chapter 39 (M)

Christopher lay on his side_,_ head heavy on the pillow, watching a quietly snoring, prone Sam beside him, his hand resting in the valley of her lower back. Languid and completely spent in a way he hadn't felt for many years, the corner of his mouth twitched up - _Damned good feeling_. It had been a full decade and a half since he'd enjoyed this sort of complete post-coital lethargy. A miracle to have **_this_**, now.  
Samantha was turned away, the golden storm of her tousled hair rolling over the pillow towards him. He caressed slowly upwards to her shoulder, fascinated with every rise and dip of her smooth, warm flesh, and wound the strawberry blonde tendrils around his fingers.

_His own Sam_ -. Well, _soon_ to be his own. Making love to her - _with her_ \- was a revelation, and an indescribable pleasure. To have that youthful eagerness - her willingness to actively contribute that so often had touched his heart in their wartime work together - now transferred and dedicated to their mutual physical passion... _utter bliss_.  
He had little doubt, and much confidence, that their coupling would result in her pregnancy, and his heart swelled at the thought of accomplishing this for her -_ with her_ \- after her difficulties. He was quite convinced that she'd make a wonderful, devoted mother.

...And his conscience - he noted with a wry smile - concerning their present unmarried state, was surprisingly clear. _Not_ due to any corrupting influence from his unwanted term at the Security Service. He simply had no inclination to chastise himself over the situation. Although even as recently as two months ago he had never anticipated such a turn of events, he could not admit to any compunction over his conduct in how this had come about.  
Yet his brow clouded momentarily at the thought of facing his former colleague Hugh Reid this evening.  
_How will this **look**, really, to his friend?_  
He gave an involuntary sigh, but before his thoughts could darken into worry, Sam stirred under his hand. The tendrils of silken gold unwound from his fingers as she turned her head to face him.  
Samantha covered his hand on the mattress with her own, and broke into a loving grin that instantly dispelled his doubts,  
"Oh, ...haven't kept you _waiting_, have I?"  
Christopher returned her grin, "Wulll, turn about's..."  
"...Fair play. Yes, _I_ think so. Speaking of..."  
Sam draped an arm over him, moved in closer, and, starting from his breastbone, began kissing her way down his midline. She pressed a hand on his chest to persuade him onto his back as she continued downwards.

He raised his eyes heavenward in feigned exasperation, still smiling,  
"Wwwhat're you _up to_, sweetheart? There'sss... _little more_ I can do for you just now."  
Then watched amazed as she knelt between his legs and captured her prize, intent on resuming her familiarization with his anatomy.  
"I'm not up to _anything_..." She replied innocently, though her hands were busy.  
"Well, Ssam. There _are_ limits... And, _em_, if you're, _em_, _peckish_..." He quirked his lips in amusement, "...for something _sweet_...the chocolate's in my dressing gown pocket."  
She looked up at him in surprise, wondering at the offered distraction,  
"You'd rather I didn't? You...don't enjoy this...?"  
"W'-oh, t-to the contrary. I _do_...enjoy it... Just nnot sure _you_ will, entirely."  
"That's for me to discover, isn't it?"  
He squeezed one eye shut in doubt,  
"Yyes, _em_. ...Yyou mustn't feel obligated." He shifted upwards on the mattress, withdrawing a little distance from her hands.  
"I don't. Lie still. I'd like to practice." She swept her hair to one side before lowering her head to the task.  
"_Um_...Sssam...there's really no such thing as _'practicing' **this**_**...**_ Uhhnn_...," he gave a little moan at the caress of her tongue, dropped back onto the pillow and murmured to the ceiling,  
"It's not...Fffirst Aid...or...Ll-llife Boat drill..."  
Sam chuckled and complained with a wide smile,  
"Hush! I can't do it properly if you make me laugh."  
"Still...nnot sure I want you to... _Ohhnn_..."  
"_Mmmh_… Seems t' be two against one..."  
He lifted his head to glare down at her, with a mild frown,  
"_That thing_...doesn't get a _vote!_ ...In _any matter_ between..._uhnnhm_...b'tween..._usss_..."  
She mumbled, "_Mmmh_, but he's...really quite upstanding... Hush, darling..."  
Christopher decided it was best to comply, and laid his head down, resting a forearm across his eyes. Samantha's attentions soon had him gasping with pleasure, and she seemed to have an instinct for it, so that there was no need to offer guidance by word or touch.

Sam applied herself with a novice's enthusiasm, determined to return the intense pleasure Christopher had given her that morning. She paid close attention to the responses of the object before her, which gave clear communication with its own signals of expanding, diminishing, swelling again, hardening and twitching. She soon felt she understood what to do, taking it all in and giving her best. Thrilled with the sense of her power over Christopher as he reacted to her efforts, she glanced up to see his left hand clenched into a tight fist over his brow, and the other gripping the bedsheet by his hip. Between appreciative groans, his lower lip was firmly clamped between his teeth. He moaned a drawn out oath and reached for the hand she'd braced on his undulant lower stomach, grasping it as a lifeline. Then her eyes glowed in triumph as she saw him, in not too many minutes, chest heaving, open-mouthed and crying out in the approach to his climax.

But she hadn't _entirely_ thought the process through, and Sam was unprepared for the culmination. Half-choking, half-swallowing, she couldn't help a frown of dismay at the viscous emanation and bitter taste, but she bravely stuck to her duty, easing him down with gentle caresses of her lips and tongue.  
Eyes squeezed shut, Christopher panted_,_  
_"God! ...Samantha...that-_ You- You're a _natural...!"_ He added with a crooked smile, "Now, do have some chocolate, darling..." and shook the bed with near-silent laughter.  
Sam sat back on her heels coughing quietly, wiped her mouth delicately on her wrist, cleared her throat, and said in a small voice,  
"Might take you up on the offer..."  
She stretched across to the side of the bed, leaning half off the mattress, reached for his dressing gown on the floor and dragged it over, but then her head snapped to attention as she felt Christopher's hand slide possessively, appreciatively up the back of her leg and over her bottom.  
He whispered, "_God_, you're a miracle!"  
Smiling with quiet pride, she reversed up onto the mattress, rolled over beside him and rested against the headboard to unwrap the bar. Sam broke off a corner piece and savoured it slowly on her tongue_,_  
_"Mmm,_ that's rather better."  
Christopher murmured happily from under his forearm,  
"I'll be sure to keep a supply handy." Then he shifted his eyes towards her, _"Er,_ that is, if you could...imagine yourself, _um,_ ever again, _er_..."  
With a crooked smile she snapped off another corner, turned to him and placed the chocolate between his gently curving lips. He opened and accepted it quite contentedly, to her delight.  
"There are _eighteen_ squares in this bar alone... _Well...sixteen..._now."  
She popped another piece into her mouth, mumbling, _"Mmmh..._Fifteen. With the basket downstairs, we've enough 'antidote' to _em...to that..._ for many future undertakings..."  
Sam gave him a sly sideways look, "...You may be _regretting_ giving so many bars _away_, now."  
Christopher grinned, assuring her,  
"Be...immensely pleased and grateful...for those...future undertakings…" He rolled towards her to lay his hand gently on her abdomen, "After I've met my 'responsibility to help repopulate the country,' of course." He pressed his lips tenderly just below her navel, "Confident that shan't take long."  
Sam put aside her _Cadbury's,_ intending to embrace him in gratitude for his words, however before she could, he introduced a new topic, eyeing the ceiling and saying conversationally,  
"Ssuppose when _Andrew_ arrives...he'll be more comfortable on the sofa in the study. He's outgrown the settee."

She blinked and watched him with a mildly worried expression. As he didn't continue, she asked hesitantly, "But...surely he'll be _most_ comfortable...in his _own_ _room_, won't he?"

Christopher widened his eyes, staring forwards in apparent disapproval, adding to her confusion. Samantha's mouth fell open while she considered his reaction, then she ventured cautiously,  
"Darling...you don't honestly believe... I'll go back to the second bedroom_...now,_ do you? I mean, sleep _alone_...? _Without...you...?"_

He answered quite straight-faced, "Well. Sam, it's one thing for Andrew to _suspect_ we're, _em...,_ but it's quite another to offer bald proof..."

She looked a skeptical question at him for a moment, but before her brows bent in real frustration, the corner of his mouth twitched up,  
"Nnot afraid we'll offend his moral principles? His delicate sensibilities?"  
Sam dropped her shoulders, visibly relieved, and playfully slapped his arm lying across her belly,  
"He's not that delicate."  
Christopher chuckled in appreciation of her assessment of his rakish son, then paused before leaning in to kiss her cheek, murmuring,  
"Dare say he'd be..._disappointed?_ To find we weren't, _um,_ ...sharing a room?"  
"I'd say so!"

* * *

Samantha had been given the advantage of first turn in the bathroom after Christopher had made a droll plea of physical exhaustion. She dressed in the smaller bedroom, choosing her pale green floral print, and it wasn't until she had applied her eye makeup and nearly completed the arrangement of her hair that she realised he hadn't yet emerged from his - _their_ \- bedroom.  
Removing the hairpins from between her lips, watching herself in the bathroom mirror, she called out,  
"Darling?" Getting no answer, she called again, "Christopher? It's gone a quarter past six."

Still no response, so she set down the pins and her brush and walked around to peep in the bedroom doorway. Her lover was not only sound asleep, he was flat on his back with limbs thrown wide, the very _picture_ of exhaustion. A rumpled edge of the bed-sheet covered his modesty, while his chest rose and fell with profound suspirations that rasped from his open mouth.

Sam bit her bottom lip in admiration of his naked abandon, then gave in to a fond, and somewhat amused, smile. It was an absolute shame to have to wake him, but time was pressing so she went to sit on her side of the bed facing him and, leaning across, gently called his name and shook his shoulder.

Before his eyes even opened, he suddenly gasped and gave a violent start. His right hand shot up to clutch her neck, her wrist was seized in his left and wrenched aside, forcing her weight forward against his grip on her throat. She gave a strangled cry of alarm, as he stared at her with something like terror, wide-eyed but unseeing. For Sam it was a long frightening moment before Christopher's glare focussed on her with proper recognition. He instantly released her, snatching back his hands in confusion, then caught her by the upper arms as she half fell towards him with a whimper of fright.  
He shook his head to clear it, and said in a weak, dry voice,  
_"Good god._ Samantha... I-, this-. ...Hasn't happened in _years...!" _He peered anxiously into her face, "Are you all _right_? I didn't-? Did I-?"  
"I'm...I'm fine." Though her eyes stung with tears and she brought a hand up to soothe her throat, "You _startled_ me, that's all. What _was_ it...?"

He squeezed his eyes shut, let out a long ragged breath, then looked at her sideways, worried, _"Very_ sorry, darling... It's...a relic of the last _war_." He bowed his head in dismay, "Just... Can't imagine _why_ it should-."  
Sam frowned in concern, noting the sudden sheen of sweat on his forehead,  
"Y-you were sleeping _very_ soundly, Christopher. Perhaps I ought to have called you more loudly, rather than..."  
_"Hmm._ Q-quite sure it won't happen again." He said doubtfully, raising her hand to his lips and holding it there. Sam could feel he was trembling slightly from the shock of adrenaline. Then he confessed, "...Rosalind...had a _devil_ of a time, first few years. But...that was...immediately after the _War."_ He shook his head, _"This..._makes no _sense."  
_

Samantha took a breath and laid her hand on his breast in a comforting gesture, "But it _does_ make sense, you know. Us...being together _now_ \- it...must remind you of those early days of your marriage. Only natural that it should. And...that was a _part_ of it, the end of the War, _wasn't_ it?"  
He lifted troubled eyes to hers, "It _was._ Very much so." He let out another sigh, making no move to rise.  
Sam pressed her lips together, considering, then suggested calmly,  
"Let's not dwell on it, just now, darling. No harm done. ...If _you'__re_ all right?"  
He nodded unhappily.  
She paused, then twisted her lips in a little smile, "In future, when I plan to _completely_ wear you out, we'll make certain it's at a time when we have no other engagements, so that, afterwards, you can sleep as long as you need to."

Christopher stared at her again, this time quite nonplussed, then his mouth quirked up and he erupted in genuine laughter.  
Sam straightened her spine, smiling, "Up and at 'em, dear. It's nearly half past six. You bathe, and I'll telephone Elaine to say we've been a little delayed."

But he held onto her hand, and kissed her fingers, eyeing her gratefully.

* * *

Downstairs at the telephone, she heard him begin his own preparations for their evening invitation. Sam assured their hostess of their imminent arrival, and then returned to the front bedroom to find him, shaved once again and hair neatly brushed, at the wardrobe pulling a fresh shirt from a drawer. Feeling a new boldness after the success of her earlier experimentation, and wishing to encourage a buoyant mood, she cocked an eyebrow at him, saying breezily,  
"You know, darling..., no gentleman _under sixty _has worn a _vest_ since Clark Gable appeared bare-chested in a film in '34."

Foyle dropped his head to one side, staring into the wardrobe, lips pursed. He answered quietly, "Gable lives in California, not bloody Sussex. I'll keep mine on, thank-you very much!" And turned to her with tongue firmly in cheek.  
She laughed and approached with a relaxed familiarity, "I suppose that's true." Then volunteered, "I _do hope_ you plan to wear your red tie."  
"Oh?" He asked as he settled his shirt around his shoulders.  
"It's my favourite, you know." She smoothed the fabric over his chest as he did the lower buttons.  
Before looking up he said, "...As a matter of fact...I _did_ know." Then gazed warmly into her eyes.  
"How?"  
"...W'oh, a _special smile_...when I opened the door to you in the mornings."  
"Did I give myself away so easily? I _was_ trying to be strictly professional." Her arms wound over his shoulders and around his neck.  
He gave her a fond inverted smile,  
"Wull,_ I had_ to stop myself from wearing that tie more than once a week. Rationing, y'know." He brushed his lips softly on hers.  
Surprised, and very pleased, Sam purred, "My smiles were always off-Ration for you, Christopher. Always will be." She nudged his cheek with her nose.  
"Glad to know it..."  
Still adjusting to this casual intimacy, his eyelids closed momentarily with the pleasure of it. Then he cleared his throat and his voice took a businesslike turn, though his hands lingered on her slender waist,  
"C'mon now, Sam. Mustn't be late."  
"No indeed." Backing away with a nod to allow him to finish dressing, her eyes lit up as he selected the red tie from among the others on the rack.

tbc...


End file.
